


Secret Santa

by OberonsEarring



Category: X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-30
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-09-02 14:34:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16788862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OberonsEarring/pseuds/OberonsEarring
Summary: Gifting goes awry.





	Secret Santa

Secret Santa. Just the mention of it filled Logan with dread. Especially after his severe faux pas last year. He'd meant it as a joke for his stick-up-his-ass leader, but it took over a month for things to finally calm down. And even now, he can hear the chuckles of the staff in the other room wondering what he'll do this year to top it.

He watches Scott file into the teachers' room, listens to the stifled laughter and Bobby's inanity, and wishes to beer that he had been a bit more prudent in his gift giving last year. At the time, he'd thought the man deserved it – every bit of red-faced humility that he got from that gift, but that quickly dispelled when he realized that he had actually hurt Cyclops in a way that he never imagined.

Jean was dead, and with it, Scott's love life. For almost a year, everyone walked on pins and needles around him, whispering behind his back, making sure that everyone left him alone as he wallowed in his grief. Yes, he still taught classes, and yes, he still led the team, but in those off-times, when he could be found in the kitchen putting together a salad, or in the Danger Room, blowing off steam, he barely said a word to anyone. He was all steel-trap jaw and red-lensed glare and had no patience for even the tiniest of small talk.

It pissed Logan off, especially during Thanksgiving when the man didn't even bother to show up to the table to celebrate with students and staff. “Man should have more manners than that. It's not like she hasn't died before.”

Storm had quickly and rightfully reprimanded him for his attitude. “Losing Jean again has been hard on us all, but think of how often this has happened to him. His brothers, his father, Xavier, Jean – his whole life is regaining something only to lose it again.”

“Man needs to take that stick out of his ass and treat others with respect. Get a sense of humor. Stop being some dismal asshole who everyone walks on eggshells--”

“You have a right to your opinion, of course, Logan, but please, don't make his life any more difficult than it already is.”

And then, he drew Scott's name for the Secret Santa.

A thousand ideas ran through his mind about what to get the man to teach him a lesson. A big old stick from out on the lawn, a broom handle, a screwdriver set, but those things were far too obvious. He needed something that would strike the man, that would pull him out of his months-long stupor and maybe put a pep in his step. That's when he found the shiny silver dildo through some online ad. It was perfect.

The gift exchange was a hoot as always, with everyone excited about their presents. The gifts ranged from thoughtful to downright hilarious, and the air was thick with the scent of Gambit's special eggnog that he reserved just for this occasion. Rogue got a new straightening iron for her hair from Jubilee. Colossus gave Sam a portrait of his very large family – one that he'd made several special trips to Kentucky to render properly. Kurt, of course, being the dashing man that he was, found Bobby an old French burlesque poster complete with a half-naked man on a swing. Logan, himself, got a nice box of cigars from good old Hank. And on it went until Scott's gift was the last one under the tree. 

Storm noticed the shit-eating grin on Logan's face, and hesitated when she handed poor Scott the present. It was wrapped all neat and tidy in bright silver wrapping with a large red bow with eight fabric ribbons holding it closed. It was the prettiest gift under the tree, but Ororo knew that something was up. As Cyclops struggled with the ribbons, she tried to distract everyone, called them to song and offered them more eggnog, but her attempts only made them more adamant about watching the show. 

When the box finally popped open, there was a large velvet bag inside, with another set of ribbons that Scott had to undo – which was all apart of the plan. Scott couldn't just close the box back up and hide the gift. This way everyone would see what it was. And they did when the final ribbon was untied. The shiny silver dildo fell out of the bag and onto the floor, hitting the on button and vibrating in circles.

There was a long pause as Scott looked down at the thing in horror, and then laughter and pointing and all the things that Logan had hoped for when he bought the thing. Cyke's face turned as red as his glasses, and without a word, he picked the thing up and slid it back into the bag, put it back in the box, and handed the whole thing to Logan. Silent as winter, he left, and no one saw him for two days.

“Come on,” Logan had grumped to Ororo on the third day. “It was a joke.”

“It didn't seem like a joke,” she said. “It seemed more like mockery.”

“He takes himself too seriously.”

“And we best be glad that he does. He requires that distance in order to be an effective leader. He can't have his emotions in the way when he's asking us to put our lives on the line everyday. It's the only way he makes it through. The least the rest of us can do is give him the respect that he deserves.”

After getting thoroughly reamed for his actions, he decided an apology was in order, which Scott accepted later that evening with a nod and a thank you, but little else. The door was shut softly in his face, and no one saw him again until he was in the War Room the next morning planning for their next mission. The laughter had yet to subside. “You should have seen the look on your face,” Bobby chortled. “I've never seen you so surprised!” 

Logan entered the room just behind Scott, the giggles already starting, though Scott paid them no attention. As always, he took his seat near the window and thanked 'Ro for the cold, crisp beer that she saved for him. He wasn't big on booze, couldn't hold it well, and so while everyone else yucked it up with the alcoholic hot chocolate, he settled in with the Hefeweisen in hand and stared out at the falling snow.

Logan had always known that Scott was lonely. They all had. He needed to be most of the time. Before, there had been Jean, the one person who wouldn't let him be alone, but now there was no one. He listened idly to the hints being tossed into the air about what the staffers wanted for Christmas. New hair dryers and I-phones, paint brushes and new designer coats. He knew what they all wanted for Christmas, not that he would buy those things. Scott was anything if surprising at his attention to gifts. He never bought the obvious thing, but always something cherished.

Unlike Logan. 

Guilt made him pale, and he finished his drink in three seconds flat, going back for seconds, and returning with the whole bottle of rum. If he drank enough and fast enough, he could get drunk for an hour or so, and that was his total intention at that point, as it was the only way he was going to be able to stomach the name drawing.

Storm passed around the empty sheet of paper and pens, asking everyone to write their names neatly on the list and return it to her. There was a ritual to it – the little hearts over i's, the way people crossed their t's. Each one had their own superstition about how to get the best gift and who would give it to them. “Whoever gets mah name,” Rogue called out, half drunk already, “I do not want a dildo for Christmas. I already have one, thank you.”

The laughter was imminent. Both Rogue and Logan glanced to Scott, but as always, he remained silent about the whole thing, barely even blushing. He'd expected as much, especially with all of the alcohol being consumed, and that he knew to expect it, only made him seem lonelier. 

Storm cut up the names and put them in the hat, and called everyone up one by one. Names were drawn, folded up into slender pieces and tugged into pockets. It was a happy occasion for most of them, but for Logan it was mind wrenching. He hoped to goodness that he got Scott's name again, if only so he could make last year up to him.

Scott drew a name and sat back down, watching the crowd behind his ruby lenses. There was no telling who he got. The man had a poker face that would put professional gamblers to ultimate shame. And then, finally, came Logan, who drew the last name in the hat – Jubilee. He sighed, returned to his seat and chugged down the rest of the industrial sized bottle of rum before excusing himself in a stupor.

Jubilee was easy to shop for. Ever the mall rat, if it had a designer name somewhere on the label, then she was all for it. “I have to go to the mall,” he told Scott later that morning. “Thought you'd want to come with me.”

“Me?” he asked, a little surprised.

“No, the fucking cookie monster in the corner. Yes, you. You comin'?”

“Are you driving?”

“If you want.”

“Okay.”

The mall was packed with holiday shoppers swinging bags and talking wildly on phones. They went into three or four different stores before deciding it was time for lunch. Perhaps Jubilee was harder to shop for than Logan imagined. No way he was paying ten grand for a Hermes bag, no matter how much she wanted it. Sucking down a double burger and fries, he studied Cyke for several minutes before speaking. He'd barely touched his salad, his focus obviously on the ruckus in the food court. “Do you ever fucking relax?”

“Not really, no,” he said, keeping track of the comings and goings of the mall goers, watching for signs of trouble. 

Silence.

“So, whose name did you get?” Logan asked.

“Yours.”

“Turn about's fair play, yeah?”

“You know me better than that.” And, it was true. He knew that Cyke would get him a gift that meant something. It would be more than cigars or a case of beer. It would be one of those gifts that proved the mutant had been listening to every word he said the past year. 

“I'm really sorry.”

“It's fine, Logan. I was never angry.”

“But, you should've been. If it were me, I would have kicked someone's ass.”

“Sure. But, I'm not you.”

Back to shopping, the talk dwindled on to things that Jubilee would like. Neither man knew much about fashion, and Cyke was hindered even further by seeing everything in shades of red. He revealed – at some point during their day – that Jean used to color coordinate his clothes for him, and now he asked to Bobby to help. “Damn,” Logan said. “I didn't think about that.”

“It's not a problem, really. You get used to it.”

Logan also had his share of clothing woes – specifically that most clothes were far too long for him. Jeans were a bitch to find in his size and length. That's why he held onto them for so long. “Hmmm,” Scott mused. “I just thought you were making a fashion statement.”

“Did Scott fucking Summers actually make a joke?”

“A real zinger, eh?” And both men laughed. 

It wasn't the first time that Logan noticed how beautiful Scott was, even without the ability to see his eyes. Or, that he smelled good. Like soap and spice, clean. “You should smile more often,” he told Scott. “It looks good on you.” The smile instantly disappeared. “Hey, I was giving you a compliment.” It was a questioning look that came from Scott – a slight perk of brows, one side pinched lips. “You don't see it, do you?”

“See what?”

“How fucking easy you are on the eyes?” Scott shrugged, the fade of blush along his sculpted cheekbones. “Never thought you'd be one to lack confidence.” A short silence with the shorter man looking up at his companion. “That's the rub, isn't it?”

“Sometimes confidence is overrated,” was all he said for long moments, and then the kicker. The one that twinged inside Logan's stomach, made him want to reach out and pull Summers into a long, warm embrace. “It's hard to have confidence when one bad decision can kill everyone you care about.”

“Yeah,” Logan replied. “Yeah, I can see that.”

They were silent after that. Logan picked out a yellow pleather jacket by some French designer that he was really hoping was important. Scott had agreed with the jacket, noting that it was made well and the stitches would hold up with their hectic lifestyle. 

“So what are you going to get for me?” Logan asked.

“You'll see.”

Logan went to bed that night with dreams of Scott in his head. A naked Scott in his head. A very naked Scott. The washboard abs, the long, dreamy legs. In his dreams, Scott let go of himself, abandoned that need for distance and control. He kissed him, long and langorous, his tongue a mimic of his shifting hips. His hands traveled down chest, to underwear, slowly slipping off the boxers and brushing against Logan's very hard heat. His mouth was as masterful as his tongue, and his ass was so tight that Logan was sure he could cum just by looking at it.

When he woke, he was sticky, and shocked, and completely breathless. Three cold showers later, he gave up on sleep and journeyed downstairs for coffee. “You couldn't sleep?” Cyclops asked him, a pile of paperwork on the counter, and the coffee fresh brewed.

“Do you ever sleep?”

A soft smile and a shrug and Scott went back to work. It was then Logan noticed the small gift wrapped box laying beside his arm. “Is that my gift?” he asked. Scott nodded. “You going to put it under the tree or give it to me now?”

“Gifts are opened on Christmas. Not before.”

It was Logan's turn to shrug, and he settled onto the stool and watched as Scott worked on his reports that he swore he was behind on, though Logan had a feeling that he was simply double checking them for errors. “Wanna beer?” Scott nodded, and brought the proffered bottle to his lips. There was not much to talk about, not with Summers so busy with work. So, Logan just sat and watched as Cyke filled out his papers to his exacting degree. 

“I'm thinking of hitting the Danger Room. Want to join me?” Scott asked, tugging the papers under his shoulder.

“This late?”

“The new practice scenario is still bugged. I need to work it out before tomorrow's self-defense class.”

And so time went for days on end. Logan would find some reason to bother Scott; Scott would find something for them to do – from working on the Blackbird to honing martial arts techniques, to even making dinner one weekend to give their cook a well-deserved time off. They went jogging out on the trail behind the mansion, went to the store to stock up on supplies, and tended to the bird feeders every other day. 

At night, however, things were a different story all together. The g-rated talks and friendly jibes went the way of the moon, and so came the dreams that made Scott fall apart in his hands. He could no longer count how many showers he'd taken in order to calm himself down, how many times he'd jerked off to the fading visions of Summers' orgasmic cries. 

Christmas Eve and Scott was nowhere to be found. Lost somewhere in work, Beast had told him. He'd gotten used to the routine of things, how he could find Scott in the kitchen, coffee in hand and work at his elbow. How they'd drink a beer just after, and then go to work in the Danger Room. Afterwards, they'd shower, and Logan couldn't help but sneak those little peaks that would fuel his dreams later on in the evening. So, when he couldn't find their fearless leader, he was somewhat disappointed. To make matters worse, he didn't show up on Christmas, either.

What no one had realized was that Scott had withdrawn his name from the Secret Santa list this year, so when the last of the presents finally came to Logan, everyone was a bit surprised. Storm said that Scott had requested it, and she didn't feel comfortable cajoling him into it. “So he's spending Christmas by himself?” Kurt asked, suddenly disheartened.

“No, no. He's fine. He's having a wonderful Christmas, and will soon have all of the company he desires.” She looked at Logan, and the still unopened box. One could hear a pindrop in the silence of it all, how all of the chatter suddenly stopped and everyone stared wide-eyed at the package on Logan's lap. “You might want to open that in private,” she told him, a glimpse of a smile on her face. The disappointment of the crowd was readily apparent as Logan agreed and wandered off to his room.

He expected something almost nasty, tasteless, jarring; something so alien now that he'd taken the time to get to know Scott. But, instead of something that would break his heart, all the box contained was a little card that said to meet him on the running trail by the big oak tree.

Bundled up, Logan trudged through the snow, making his way through ice-bent pine and flurries. He came to the oak a good thirty minutes into his trek, only to see a small table set up under a giant umbrella and a bottle of wine on the center of the table. Lights were strewn between the trees, and a stove burning near the table. “I hope you like steak,” Scott said from behind him. “You seem like a steak guy.” He was dressed for winter – with a coat, hat, and black leather gloves - and he stood in front of several chaffing dishes that smelled delicious.

“Scott?” Logan's tone was incredulous, disbelieving, almost a ridicule. He wondered if Scott was now making fun of him.

Nervously, red lenses lowered to the ground, and Scott stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I got the wrong idea, didn't I?”

“The wrong idea about what?” he needled, still in shock.

“Have a seat,” he fumbled, pulling out the chair for Logan. He uncorked the wine and poured the glass half full, and began serving up a ribeye steak with herbed butter, pomme des frites done bistro style, and other assorted sides. “This took a long time to plan, so I hope you enjoy it.” 

Logan could see another steak inside the warming tray. “You cooked me dinner?”

It came out a rasp, as if his throat was suddenly too small. “Yeah. I cooked you dinner. Sorry. I'm not the best cook.”

“You cooked _us_ dinner?”

“Yeah, sorry. It was a leap, I know. I just thought... I hope you enjoy it. There's second helpings if you want them.”

Logan watched the man beside him flush with nerves and worry. It was a rarely seen sight, Cyke being so vulnerable. “Scott--” he started, then stopped. “You're not making fun of me, are you?”

“What? Logan, why would I... No, I'm not making fun of you.”

“Oh shit. You're serious. This was... This was a date.” Surprise rounded out ebon brow and lowered jaw. 

“No... No... I thought... I was wrong, okay. I apologize. Don't... Your food's getting cold. Here,” he said and filled the wine the rest of the way. “I brought bourbon, too. I thought it'd go well with the steak if you didn't like wine. It's chilling in the snow over there. Let me get it. I'll be right back.”

Logan catches his wrist before he's able to make his escape. Ashamed, embarrassed, Scott takes a deep breath and readies himself for punishment. “Just please, don't mock me again. Please,” Scott begs, scratching at his forehead. 

“I've never seen you flustered before.” Logan's smile was a coy one. “It's cute.” The comment catches Scott's breath in the back of his throat. They look at each other for long, silent moments, waiting for the other to speak, but there are no words to say, simply the reaching out and taking of those long, cold, glove smothered fingers. “Come on, _our_ food's getting cold.”

It was a lovely evening, one where the two men laughed and shared as if they had always been so close and trusting of each other. “I thought you knew how I felt,” Scott said. “And you were blatantly telling me no.”

“You're harder to read than those damn small print newspapers they put on the phones nowadays, Scott. I was just being an ass.” 

“I'm glad I figured that out,” he said, planting a cold kiss on Logan's cheek.

“So am I.” 

“Merry Christmas, Logan.”

“Merry Christmas, Scott.”


End file.
